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by quokka
Summary: Do we really need another "there is only one bed" fanfic? Yes, yes we do.


**A/N:** Tumblr request with the following prompts; 'We've only got one bed between the two of us.', 'Your bed head is really cute.', 'You are my new pillow.'

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As the door swung open, the first thing he noticed was the floral pattern. Everywhere. Even on the carpet. He suddenly remembered his dislike of country Bed and Breakfasts. The second thing was the single queen-size bed that took up most of the tiny room. He glanced at Ziva who stepped into the room—she had always been braver than him—dumped her bag on one side of the bed, then turned around slowly, taking in the decoration.

When she faced him and the B&B owner, she said, "It's…" She glanced around again, and he recognized her stunned look of disbelief. "Wow."

The innkeeper next to him misread the situation, clutched her hands in front of her chest in delight, and said, "I just knew you'd love it."

Ziva tilted her head and looked at him wide-eyed, barely containing her laughter. He didn't find the situation half as amusing. Sharing a bed with Ziva again would be…interesting. Not straying from his side of the bed would've been somewhat easier in a king-size bed, though. "When the sheriff sent us here we were expecting something…different."

"I'm sorry, this is the closest I have to a bridal suite."

He gave Ziva a pained stare—the people in this town were adamant that they were a couple, no matter how much they had protested the past few days. She almost cracked, but instead of helping him clarify the situation, she headed for her bag so her back was turned towards them.

Facing the innkeeper again, he said, "We're just partners."

"Oh, that's okay, honey, it's a small town, doesn't mean we're small-minded." She patted his arm in reassurance.

A chortle, poorly covered up by a cough, came from his partner, and as he watched her shoulders shake ever so slightly, he vowed revenge. "No, I didn't mean partners like that, we-"

The lady smiled widely, and slapped his arm. "Oh, you, the sheriff told me how cute you two were together. The whole town's been talking about you."

He opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say. Then Ziva was beside him, all smiles, clinging to his arm, looking up at him with adoration, and he wondered what had gotten in to her.

"You won't pull a muscle pushing the beds together like last time, sweetie." Before he could protest, she faced the innkeeper. "We love the room, we'll see you at breakfast." She closed the door and started chuckling. "The look on your face."

He fake laughed twice, she was having way too much fun with this. The twinkle in her eye made it hard to be truly upset with the charade, though. And if he was being honest, he hadn't minded people mistaking them for a couple for a while. Not that he would admit it. Glancing at her he wondered for the millionth time why he wouldn't own up to it.

He fidgeted with the room key, then placed it on the small side table, and looked about the room again. "This is a Little Shop of Horrors nightmare in the making," he said flatly.

As expected the reference went over her head, and he sighed, looking at the stuffed chair in the corner of the room. "I'm not sleeping in that chair," he declared and watched her unpack her bag on the bed. "Wouldn't want to pull a muscle again, sweetie."

She bit the tip of her tongue and looked at him with sparkling eyes. "Nobody asked you to."

He wondered about her playful mood. "There's only one bed."

Ziva dropped the toiletry bag she was holding and looked up at him as he approached her. "I can see why Gibbs made you senior field agent."

He made a face, she grinned and went back to rummaging through her overnight bag. "We have shared a bed before." She met his gaze, challenging. "Or have you forgotten?"

"How could I forget," he said and gave her the once-over. Then deadpanned, "You put a gun in my face."

She scrunched up her nose, removed her gun from its holster and placed it under the pillow, then sent him a sweet smile.

"Why are you in such a good mood?"

She looked at him in disbelief. "The case had a happy ending, and the missing petty officer is back with his fiancée." Grabbing her toiletries and sleepwear, she headed for the bathroom and said, "Why are you in such a foul mood?"

Was he in a foul mood? He had been earlier when he realized they'd have to spend the night in this town. His mood had picked up significantly learning he'd get to share a room with Ziva. And then it had plummeted seeing the decoration.

"I haven't slept in a week," he exaggerated, "and now I'm stuck in floral hell with you." He sat down on the bed, tested the mattress and wondered if it would sink in the middle. Memories of them—touching, kissing, groping—came to mind. A lot had changed since then. They had changed, become friends. Close friends, he thought and smiled to himself.

The bathroom door opened and Ziva stuck her head out. "Are you upset about being stuck with the wallpaper or me?"

The gleam in her eye would've made sleeping in the mud bearable, and he bit down a smile. "Well, you sleep with a gun under your pillow, so, definitely the wallpaper."

She stuck out her tongue and disappeared again, leaving the bathroom door open.

He inhaled deeply, a lightness spreading in his chest, then stared at the flower pattern on the carpet, wondering, always wondering… He sighed heavily, one of these days he would have to make a decision, before it was too late.

After stripping down to his boxers he grabbed his bag and joined her in the small bathroom. They moved around each other, perfectly synchronized, in complete silence. While brushing his teeth he gazed at her in the mirror as she was removing her make up. A feeling of peacefulness settled inside of him, and it hit him that if this were his evening routine for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.

She gave him a curious look, the one that always managed to warm his heart a little, and his mind went blank. A lewd smile from him, an eye-roll from her, and the peaceful spell was broken as she left the bathroom.

Staring in the mirror he looked at himself disapprovingly, wondering how much longer he was going to let his fears and insecurities get in the way of what could be.

He slid into bed, got comfortable on his back and wrapped an arm around his head. Ziva stirred and muttered next to him. He glanced her way, knowing he hadn't disturbed her getting in bed. She fluffed her pillow, laid down again and groaned.

"This pillow is lumpy."

"Are you sure it's the pillow, and not the gun underneath?"

She turned to face him and narrowed her eyes. "Is your pillow lumpy?"

"I'm not giving you my pillow," he said slightly amused.

"That's not what I asked."

"Good, 'cause you're not getting it." He smiled smugly, then closed his eyes.

A huff, some jostling and pulling of the bed sheet, her head on his bare chest.

His eyes flew open as his body tensed and mouth went dry. "What are you doing?"

He glanced down at her, she glanced up. "You are my new pillow," she said matter-of-factly.

Just like that, he thought and stared at the ceiling, resisting the urge to wrap an arm around her back. As she relaxed against him, her breath slowing with every exhale, tension made way for peacefulness once more, and he nodded off.

Sunlight streaming through the curtains woke him from a full night's sleep. Stretching slightly he realized Ziva had ended up almost completely on top of him during the night. He smiled languidly, glancing down as she stirred a little, fingers lightly trailing through his chest hair in her sleep. He held her tighter, not too tight, he didn't want to wake her, didn't want the moment to end.

His fingers traced up and down her arm on their own accord, though, and she did wake, stretching lazily against him. Fully awake, now, she glanced up at him sheepishly.

"Did you sleep well?" His fingers were still running up and down her arm slowly.

A relaxed smile crept on her lips as she looked at him with hooded eyes. "You're a very comfortable pillow."

She splayed her hand over his heart, and he felt his pulse pick up speed. "You're a very comfortable blanket."

She looked uncharacteristically bashful at that. "Sorry, it must have been too hot to-"

"You're always too hot," he murmured as his hand slipped down her back.

Her brows knit together in confusion, and he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, either. Besides finally seizing the moment before his defenses kicked in. He could pinpoint the moment she realized this was more than their usual banter.

She wet her lips and bit her bottom lip as she stared back at him with dark eyes full of promise and danger. Definitely too hot, he thought as warmth spread through his body.

"Your bed head is really cute," she said with a lilt, and ran a hand through his hair, playing with the short strands.

Sliding her hand down his cheek, she lifted herself higher so they were face to face. When she caressed his lips he kissed the pad of her thumb, never breaking eye contact. The world around them disappeared as he realized events had finally lined up in their favor. A happy reunion between two lovers, a town full of people who thought he and Ziva were married, a room with only one bed. He grinned, one lumpy pillow.

His eyes fluttered closed as her soft, warm lips brushed his fleetingly. They barely broke apart, breathing each other in with slightly parted lips. He pulled her closer, captured her lips with his, and as her breath hitched in her throat, he realized that wherever he was, a dingy motel or a tacky B&B, he would always feel home with her by his side.


End file.
